Art Project

Yesterday's post about clutter obviously struck a nerve. I like when that happens. True to my word, I did some flinging yesterday, employing the "do I use it, do I love it" mantra. Emptied one drawer in the dining room, one in my bedroom and one shelf in the kitchen. (And if you knew how limited my kitchen storage space is you would be sooooo impressed by that).

I'll do some more today but The Child wants me to read Harry Potter to her for a while (helps her little dyslexic self advance a little more swiftly, don'tcha know) and I want to go out and get a clothesline so I can reduce my carbon footprint.

But when I was thinking about yesterday and giggling about the invitations, spanning 2 continents, to help people get rid of their clutter, I thought about what makes us hold on to stuff. There might be a post in there somewhere. But for now, suffice to say that I used to hold on to a lot more than I do now. Case in point: the 6 boxes of baby clothes in the attic, along with the box of shoes that included every pair of patent leather Mary Janes that had ever been on The Child's little footsies. It was about 3 years ago when I decided that it was time to sort through all that stuff. I thought it wouldn't take that long, what with having made such judicious judgements about what to save in the first place.

Not so much.

Turns out, for example, there was no reason to hang on to half a dozen nondescript onesies. It wasn't like I was saving this stuff because there was going to be a succession of other babies and having such things on hand would be thrifty and prudent. The Child was 10. And by the time grandbabies make their appearance I'll be more than happy to buy them brand-new onesies. So I culled out everything, until there was only one box full of the most precious items, the pieces that had been hand-made by loved ones, the little dresses that were tied to a special memory. The rest of it went off to bless other babies.

And the shoes? That was harder. Which is nuts. Probably just owes to my having a bit of a thing for shoes, coupled with the indisputable fact that ain't nothin' cuter than a little tiny baby shoe. (Aside from, you know, the nibbly little tiny squishy baby foot that might wear it).

I saved the little tiny black Converse high tops that her papa bought her. I saved the little yellow walking boots that she wore with overalls and dresses alike and just looked soooooo cute in. The patent leather? I always told myself I'd do something artistic with them. Guess I had visions of a large Plexiglas box full of baby shoes. Uh, yeah. Like, a) there was any room in the house for something like that and 2) aw, there is no 2. It was crazy talk, I tell you.

So I lined up the shoes and I took a photo of them. I think I kept the wee-est pair and then I gave all the rest of them away. And then, lo and behold, I did do something artistic with those little shoes.

The Gallery of Little Tiny Baby Shoes

About this exhibit

Working in a variety of medium, using the simplest of objects, the artist seeks to explore the fleeting nature of childhood and the internal conflict of a parent between cherishing a child and yearning for simpler days even as she must set that child on a path of independence. The shoe represents first steps, both literal and figurative, and through the simplicity and universality of the form, the artist takes us on an exploration of nurturing, relinquishment and the addictive capacities of Photosuite.

"Where are You Going, My Little One?"

"Shoes, Ships, Sealing Wax"

"You Could Stand Inside My Shoes"

"Made for Walkin'"

"Embossed on the Heart"

"All God's Children Need Travellin' Shoes"

"Kickin' Down"

Now I'm going to clean out some more drawers. Who knows what inspiration may be lurking in their dark and sticky recesses!